


A Promised God

by orphan_account



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M, Memories, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What struck the chord, and led Griffith to turn his back on humanity?
Relationships: Griffith/Guts (Berserk)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	A Promised God

**Author's Note:**

> I breezed through 100 chapters of Berserk yesterday and it was a nauseating and breathtaking experience.
> 
> I still haven't gotten to Femto Griffith so excuse this, it's merely speculative of the Golden Age arc

A scrap of loud-mouthed flesh washed up on their battle grounds- that's how everyone viewed Guts. He was scrawny, brazen, bratty; all traits destined to come to catastrophe in the midst of battle. 

Griffith didn't see it that way. No simple teen could sling a sword of such weight and imposition without reason, without anger so raw and rippling. Guts had a face marked by scars and dried blood, like most other mercenaries in the Hawks, but a tenderness bled into his eyes. However much darkened by the setting sun or the shadow cast from Griffith upon his horse, it was there. There was unbridled power burning within him, waiting for the right way to be channeled, straining his small body so unseasoned to the horrors of war.

"I want you," he said. Griffith smiled to prove it was true, and Guts spit across his shoes.

"I don't," Guts said, drawing iron from its sheath to point at Griffith's navel. The broadened edge sneered at the lithe frivolity of Griffith's rapier.

Guts' hidden warmth remained as they dueled- as Griffith dueled to possess the scowl dappled with innocence like filtered light, as Guts dueled to keep possession of himself, defending his right to live if nothing else. 

Jeers and hollers sounded from the clumps of soldiers watching the fight devolve from a dignified show of skill to a mess of flying limbs. Griffith fought through teeth sinking in the meat of his arm, tussling between weeds and spiked thickets. It was meant to be quick: a lesson that there was no use denying the inevitable. This was becoming a hint for Griffith that having Guts around would be dangerously fun, and the thought fueled his desire tenfold. When he ended the brawl with a brisk, medical pop of Guts' arm, the congratulatory roar of his troops became static as he pinned Guts against the ground, filthy and defeated. 

"You belong to me now," Griffith said. When Guts made no move to slink another punch, he knew it was really over. Deals had to be honored, after all. Even if you had nothing to your name, you still had your ability to keep a promise, and that was something sacred to both of them; kids made to throw down their purity to fulfill a cosmic dream or to simply stay alive. Perhaps Griffith found that shred of forgotten childhood in Guts- so endearing and intoxicating he could weep.

  
  
  


The battles never got easier, but they became more assured. With Guts leading a charge, Griffith found a spare moment to breathe. It was different letting Casca or any other subordinate handle command like this- there was always liability wedged in panic-stricken moments or in emotions poisoning better judgement. Empathy was a plague on the battlefield- Guts wholeheartedly agreed. Groups of soldiers were beheaded at a circular swing of his sword, eyes lit up as entrails spilled from the bodies in raining confetti. Griffith had never met someone who matched his insatiability for war, yet harnessed it so differently. 

"Do you enjoy killing people?" Griffith said, naked against the cold rocks of the bath. Guts doused his head in water and shook his hair rapidly, letting droplets spray Griffith. 

"Part of the job, what can you do about it," Griffith observed a flush forming across the other's chest, "It's exciting to think of my strength compared to theirs, though. So maybe I do." 

Griffith smiled and wrung his hair, "I almost feel bad for the enemy when you talk like that. You'll make a fine general someday."

Guts leaned his head into the running spout and cracked his back. "What about you? Do you enjoy killing?" 

Griffith froze in midst of gliding fingers through his silver tresses. "It is a means to an end, and I have no problems with it. I'd kill in a heartbeat, much like you, though I enjoy it more when I know the benefits it will bear. I suppose the pleasure of the kill depends on what it yields for me." 

He peered through the corners of his vision and caught Guts in a wondrous, stricken stare, eyeing him like ancient scripture. "You- the way you speak., like you're a wise old man. I'd never have guessed we were the same age if I just heard you talking." 

"I believe it's my greatest weakness," Griffith said. He closed his eyes and smiled against the damp wall of the cavern, offering nothing else. 

A splash of water surged back into the bath as Guts stood and climbed out. "I don't think so. You got this far because of it. It's why I'm here." Griffith opened his eyes and met with the view of wet, bare skin visible from the slipping cloth haphazardly tied around his waist, mounting the wooden ladder to emerge back in the open.

Something hot and uncontrollable reared its head inside Griffith, and he feared it would linger for far too long.

  
  
  


The campaigns drew to a close, and a chest of unexplored opportunities unhinged for Griffith as the Hawks carried their battle battered bodies and received showerings of gifts and praise through the streets of Wyndham. Keeping in good faith with the princess and demonstrating tactical genius to the king proved the simplest tasks. The hardest part was keeping Guts at a constant length; close enough to sate himself, distant enough to keep grounded in his plans to conquer. 

"They're calling you a god out there- The boy who conquered the impenetrable city in mere hours simply can't be human. Yet here you are, flesh and blood," Guts said one day, laughing to himself, as if the thought of Griffith being mortal was some ridiculous joke.

"Promising a new world order and being so close to achieving it, I can see why people perceive it that way," Griffith said. Guts peered below the ornate balcony, watching noblemen file in and out of the castle like ants, perched with Griffith in the sky.

"So, I guess I gotta worship you then, huh?" Guts said, smirking and avoiding Griffith's eyes. "Never been one much for religion."

"Me neither," Griffith said, "If I were a god, I would not be sending men to die for a cause I created. I would have power unimaginable, creation at my fingertips- the Band of Hawks gives me far too much credit with all my limitations."

"..Is that something you'd want? Being a god?" Guts said, straightening and watching Griffith grin sickly sweet, then rest back to a quiet smile. 

"It would be a tantalizing offer, and fairly convenient, but," Griffith faced Guts, gripping the banister as a breeze glided through the air, "somethings are worth the pain. These men, men who were set to rot along dirt paths with no incentive for living, found purpose through me. It's a kingdom built on bones, but what great nation isn't? When it's been fulfilled, I'll have trusted advisors and rulers alongside me. I'll have you," Griffith placed a hand on the side of Guts' face, beaming into his wide stare. He'd have him. He belonged to him. Griffith withdrew his arm and dared not question the strike of guilt that bloomed on Guts as they walked back to their chambers. 

  
  
  


His divinity was challenged when Guts' back began to shrink into the distance, leaving behind the Band, leaving behind the dream. Maybe he had outgrown it, wanted something more sustainable, conflicting Griffith's visions. The revelation was like a crack in a glass dome, encompassing their unfinished utopia. Guts shattered through it with the blundered grace Griffith had come to expect from the swordsman. He gripped the broken glass and pleaded for a chance to rebuild.

"Your life is sealed by my sword. Take it back, or die trying," Griffith said, gripping the hilt of his rapier in invitation. Guts stopped his heavy trudge through the snow and peeked over his shoulder. 

"My life has never been mine. I don't got anything to prove with this duel- you have your dream, I don't," and it was obvious. Griffith shone like a rough, unpolished jewel in the long banquets of aristocrats- it was simply a matter of time before he would become meshed in royalty. Guts sat forlorn on cobblestone paths, vying for the constant slice of flesh beneath him. Wars would come and go, but he was tired of waiting for the signal, that this man's blood needed to be spilled, this one deserved to be beheaded, that endless carnage was okay so long as it appeased Griffith. 

"A vow is a vow. Draw your sword," Griffith kept his practiced stance, hoped to conceal the trembling of his wrists. Guts conceded with a heavy sigh, clutching his sword in a firm, determined bearing. Only a minute went by before both their weapons lay scattered on the ground, fists clenched and swinging. It was no better than a street brawl.

It was Griffith who sank his teeth first into Guts' shoulder, kicking at thin air, searching for a patch of skin to bruise beneath his shoes. It was a desperate cling to Guts, one they both knew Griffith would lose. Three years had sent muscles cascading down Guts' back, allowed him the time to become a genius in hand to hand and sword combat, dampened the playful demeanor of his fighting. Still, three years did not fulfill their eternal bond. Griffith scrambled for a dagger stashed in his pocket- one more half second of time, one more chance, and it would have been slotted between ribs to sharply declare victory. Guts tilted his body and flexed his arm back, straddling Griffith and swinging down to grip his forehead and bury his skull in the flurried ground. Enough was enough. 

Guts rose from Griffith, cloaking the sun behind his head and enveloping Griffith in shadow, light haloed around his figure. He smiled, and Griffith could squint and see that twinge of boyish mischief, juvenile triumph and satisfaction in spite of the blood of thousands drenching him. There was still so much that Griffith needed to know.

"So long," his coat whipped behind him in a clear cut motion, severing contact so easily. Was that it? A drifting goodbye? Had all this been for one chance encounter, a cursed boy refined under his command, a chance at true friendship, blossomed into stolen glances across campfire sites, endless dreams of him by his side? 

Was that all just his wishful thinking?

"You're making a grave mistake," Griffith said. _Don't go._ He didn't turn back.

Guts disappeared into the tangled embrace of the woods and the sun lifted. Light scattered in puddles across the milky snow, melting quick in the warmth of dawn. 

By the time he reached the library, Griffith's lips were colored blue and his hands were reduced to blocks of ice. The orange flame of a candle flickered, along with memories once treasured, licking his brain in long, scorching flames.

"I'll find you, one way or another," Griffith said, hovering numbed hands over fire, impervious to when sensation returned and volcanic heat spread across his palms, "and I'll never let go," the candle died as he grasped the tip, wax cooling rapidly and smoke pluming.

  
  
  


When the sun was hidden beneath darkness once more, of Griffith's own volition, his wish came true.

Once sinew, bones, and nothing more, Griffith had now become an angel. Consumed by jealousy and detestment, rebirthed as a paragon of power. He, who had looked God in his inexhaustible size, coursing with sublime power and knowledge, gifting Griffith his new form. He rose with a gasp of air from the palm of the Earth, fingers scaling the skies like marble columns, beckoning his fated arrival. He felt full once more, primed for fresh blood and a castle beyond the clouds.

He observed Guts below, heaving iron over his head and striking the world in blazing, futile rage, reaping destruction only to give room to more tortured ghouls, springing from the ground like writhing maggots. Perhaps it was always meant to come to this, underneath the heel of the behelit, an apocalypse sparked by a hateful whisper. A whisper he had held since he was a child, locked away by admiration of impossibly chiseled arms and an alluring, devilish grin. Now that Griffith recognized those feelings as distractions, recognized Guts as an obstacle, his mind was clear.

Griffith spared one second, seeing double of Guts, one as a hurt, aimless boy, and one as a man, seeking cold blooded revenge through pillars of demonic flesh and swirling souls. Hell rejoiced for such succulent anguish from one man, living for nothing but death. A pang of hesitation, a thin voice against the tide of strength fused in his heart, and that was all. Griffith lifted an arm and flicked his wrist, pointing towards Guts with talon-like nails. An insignia of blinding energy traced in the air and flew towards him, branding his neck in a searing scream and sealing him forever.

Their eyes locked, an intensity that tore through the plunging depths of Hell and wrote a prophecy of eternal hatred. This time, it would be impossible to run from, destined to be reciprocated. Gone was any semblance of innocence behind Guts' dark eyes, and Griffith smiled with joy too overwhelming to be contained as the eclipse dissolved and the hand of God closed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Truly the greatest manga of all time. Comment whatever u wish I like engagement :)


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